


To the Waters and the Wild: Redux

by CryptidCrone



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arakna is a passable auntie, F/F, Family Drama, Grief/Mourning, Laws of Hospitality, Miracles, Mother-Daughter Relationship, On the Run, Political Drama, Revenge, Sword Fighting, Twu Wuv, Urbosa Raises Zelda, Urbosa is a good mother, bittersweet romcom if you squint, cw: canon typical violence, cw: denial of parental rights, cw: parental kidnapping, she doesn't really get kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidCrone/pseuds/CryptidCrone
Summary: The night after the Queen of Hyrule is laid in her grave, Urbosa does something very foolish. Arakna helps.
Relationships: Urbosa & Gerudo OC, Urbosa & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Urbosa/Mipha, Urbosa/Zelda's Mother (Legend of Zelda), but it's the early stages
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	To the Waters and the Wild: Redux

**Author's Note:**

> By semi-popular demand, the Urbosa raises Zelda AU we've all been craving.

“ _I am with you, but I need to ask if you are willing to pay for your daughter with our peoples’ lives. He will wipe us out to get to her, Urbosa, and you know this.”_

Urbosa stared long into her sister’s face, the tracks of tears drying on her skin. The walls of the Town cast down, the palace aflame, the streets of their beautiful city running red with Gerudo blood.

 _“No. I will not pay with Gerudo lives. But...perhaps with a crown_.”

Arakana drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, her shoulders sloping down and her head bowing. Urbosa knew she was no chieftain in this moment, no proud daughter of the Wastes. This was a coward’s road, but she did not care, she could not care. 

In her arms, Zelda dreamed on. 

“ _Very well, my Lady_.” Arakna whispered.

In the dark Urbosa reached for her, and Arakna clasped her hand.

___

Urbosa thought that she knew the secrets of Hyrule Castle quite well, but as Arakna led her deeper and deeper into the keep she understood that she had but a child’s knowledge. Arakna took her down tight, twisting little passages she had never seen before, the walls so close that it set Urbosa’s teeth on edge and raised the hair at the back of her neck. The passages were old, and crowded with rubble and dust and things that scurried underfoot, but they let out in the lowest part of the castle, somewhere deep and damp that Urbosa thought she recognized.

“ _Why here? This is the dungeon_.” she whispered, shifting Zelda to her other hip. Arakna made a sharp gesture, grim-faced by the light of the torches that lined the hall. There were two Hylians posted by the entrance to the prison, the tips of their halberds shining in the dimness. Arakna gave them a once over, then turned and put her lips to Urbosa’s ear.

“ _Is the baby sleeping_?”

Urbosa glanced down at Zelda, who had gone utterly limp in the way of all small children at rest, her cheek pressed hard against Urbosa’s shoulder. She nodded, and Arakna reached into a hidden pocket of the cloak she wore-- it seemed she had known where the night would lead them, and had come better prepared than Urbosa. Arakna pulled out a length of rope with a knot tied in the middle and glanced around the corner at the guards.

“ _Wait here, then._ ” she said, and made to leave. Urbosa caught her sleeve, tugged her back.

“ _Leave them alive_.” she whispered. Arakna narrowed her eyes at her, but Urbosa stared her down until at last her sister sighed and replaced the rope, removing a small pouch instead.

“ _My Lady asks much of her servant_.”

Arakna slipped around the wall and Urbosa listened to her footfalls echoing on the walls. There was the sound of metal creaking, perhaps the guards shifting position, and then the sharp bark of male voices.

“Hey, what’re you--”

“Get back, woman, else we’ll--”

There was a shout and the sound of a scuffle, and then the crash of metal on stone. Urbosa held her breath in the silence after, listening for approaching footsteps, but there was only Zelda's soft snoring, and her own pulse thudding in her ears.

“ _Arakna_?” she called.

“ _Yes, yes, you can come out_ . _Try not to breathe in. I used enough to down a horse.”_

Urbosa tucked the quilt loosely over Zelda’s face and drew a deep breath, stepping out and observing the damage. Arakna stood in the flickering torchlight, cloak over her mouth and nose, hands on her hips, with the two guards slumped at her feet. She kicked one, experimentally, and bent to take the keys from the elder soldier’s belt.

There was a faint sparkle of light over the two voe, the tell-tale residue of jackal-dust in the torchlight, and Urbosa tread carefully over them. Arakna unlocked the jail door and waved her through, locking up after them. She took the lead again, grasping Urbosa’s hand and leading her through the damp dungeon halls, shouldering aside a tower of crates to reveal a crack in the wall, black and smelling foul. Urbosa followed her sworn-sister into the dark, ignoring the crawling of her skin and focusing only on the weight of the child in her arms, the shape of Arakna ahead of her. Arakna took them through a close and sweltering tunnel beneath the dungeons, which led out into a tiny chamber filled with pools of steaming, stinking water and mounds of clothing not yet washed.

 _“Quickly now, before they wake up_.” Arakna hissed, and she leapt into a cart that waited on tracks leading from the chamber. Urbosa carefully climbed in and settled Zelda on the narrow seat, freeing her hands to help Arakna get the cart moving.

The thing creaked horribly and Urbosa gripped the guardrail with her heart in her throat, certain that Rhoam and his soldiers would come storming in at any moment to tear Zelda from her arms and drive a sword into Arakna’s heart. But the cart rolled away unaccosted, coasting smoothly along its track as they passed from beneath the earth into the night air. Arakna crouched in front, her eyes forward, and Urbosa glanced uneasily at the hulk of the Castle above them. Pinpricks of light on the battlements told where the guards patrolled, and they seemed a world away from them. But it was a bright night, and all it took was one keen-eared person to hear the rattle of the cart on the track. She kept her head down and her hand on her dagger, longing for her Scimitar.

Their luck held throughout the windswept ride out to a spit of land in the moat, and stayed with them as they took a boat across the water to the mainland. Urbosa kicked the boat back into the black water to drift at will, hoping to confuse whoever would follow them in the morning. Arakna hurried her along, hand locked around wrist as she led the way over the Boneyard Bridge and through the Park.

 _“Be ready, sister. We have a long way to go yet._ ” Arakna told her, wending her way through the trees and stopping every now and then to listen like a fox, head canted to the side. Urbosa scanned the trees, the silvery moonlight spoiling her night-sight.

 _“Where are we heading? Not your house in Rauru, surely._ ”

“ _We will need to get a few things from my place, but we will not be stopping there. We’re heading north_.”

Urbosa tried to recall what was north of the Castle-- not Death Mountain, for obvious reasons, and all of the settlements between here and the foot of the mountain were too close to the Castle, too full of risk. The only other places of note were the military training grounds and--

“ _The Lost Woods?_ ” Urbosa asked, and Arakna nodded.

_“Yes.”_

“ _Aren’t they--_ ”

“ _Absurdly haunted by restless shades and mischievous spirits? Also yes._ ”

“ _Well, that is one way of deterring pursuit, I suppose_.” Urbosa said, and tried for a smile. It felt strange on her face, entirely wrong, and she let it drop. The Lost Woods were as good a place as any, she supposed, and far better than running home to Gerudo Town with Rhoam hard on her heels.

They followed the road out of the Park and up towards Ruaru, where Urbosa spent a perilous few minutes waiting in the overgrown garden of Arakna’s house as she retrieved a heavy pack from within. She bounced absently on the balls of her feets as Zelda stirred and yawned awake, lifting her head from Urbosa’s shoulder to squint around at the tangled vines and swaying tree branches. Urbosa watched her anxiously, but the child seemed more curious than frightened. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Zelda leaned up and whispered in Urbosa’s ear.

“Mata? Did we win the mission?” 

“Not yet, little bird. We are going to a new place first. A fun place, full of trees and plants.” Urbosa murmured, still swaying gently in hopes of lulling Zelda back to sleep. The girl brightened up at the idea, her eyes shining.

“And frogs?”

“Oh, many frogs. But we must still be quiet.”

Zelda nodded, a steely look of determination settling over her tiny features, and Urbosa kissed the crown of her head. She was a brave girl, her little bird.

“ _Do you intend to wake the whole neighborhood? By the burning sands, woman_!”

Urbosa turned to find Arakna stalking towards them, the emergency pack they had come for dangling from her hand. Urbosa winked at Zelda, who raised a finger to her lips. Urbosa offered her back to Arakna, who helped her shrug into the straps of the pack one arm at a time.

Silently they slipped from the village and struck out ever northward in the waning night. Urbosa paused only to transfer Zelda to her shoulders as they began to hike up the dirt road that wound up by the Hylian training camp, her hand on her dagger and one eye on the lights of the barracks.

 _And what, exactly, could you do with a single dirk and a child with you?_ She asked herself, and then promptly shoved that thought aside. She spied lights up ahead, the sound of voices in the trees, and towed Arakna after her into the trees. They crouched there, Zelda tucked between them, and watched as a patrol passed by, close enough for Urbosa to hear them talk of stars and flying. Zelda made herself as small and quiet as a mouse, her eyes following the soldiers down the path, and Urbosa wondered if she was beginning to understand.

“ _Nearly there_.” Arakna whispered, as they climbed higher and higher up the slope of the land, the camp falling away beneath them. The woods were growing denser, the trees hanging over the road the Hylians had burned and beaten through them, the vines crawling across the way like searching fingers. They rounded a final bend in the path and there it was, sprawling between flanks of jagged stone, skeletal branches jutting out of opaque mist.

“The Lost Woods.” Zelda said, her voice soft with awe. Urbosa only nodded and swung her up on her shoulders again, tucking her fallen skirts back into her belt as she and Arakna started forward. The mists enveloped them, cold and clinging to the folds of their clothes, heavy on their skin and hair. The trees towered on either side, their trunks splintered into terrible rictuses of pain or rage, and with every step they took into the forest Urbosa grew more certain they were watched.

“ _We are not alone_.” Urbosa whispered to Arakna, her hand locked around her knife and her skin prickling under unseen eyes. Aranka tossed her sheet of black hair and sniffed disdainfully, but Urbosa saw the whites of her eyes as she glanced uneasily about.

“ _Stupid Hylian superstitions for stupid Hylians, my Lady_ . _Don’t dwell on it.”_

Urbosa did not dwell on it. Instead she helped Arakna find a suitable clearing to make camp for the day, raking damp leaves into a pile at the foot of one of the snarling skeletal oaks and laying down the thick woolen blanket that was belted to Arakna’s pack.

“Are we really staying here?” Zelda asked, throwing her own blanket on top of the improvised mattress and helping unpack the rucksack with clumsy hands. Arakna and Urbosa shared a glance over the girl’s head; Arakna lifted one shoulder, hands lifted and mouth quirked down, and Urbosa sighed.

“For a few days, little bird. Until we decide where we will go next.”

“Excellent! There must be lots of frogs here.” Zelda said, and yawned hugely. Arakna yawned in her turn, and Urbosa realized that she had been awake as long as Urbosa herself, perhaps longer. Gently, she put her hand on her sister’s shoulder and guided her to lay down on the blanket. Arakna grumbled at her and gave some token resistance before relaxing, her arm curled beneath her head and her cloak drawn over her.

“No harm in resting a while before we set up the tent. You’ve been running wild for days now. Zelda, keep your vante company.”

“Alright!” Zelda said cheerfully, and settled down beside Arakna on the pallet.

“ _Auntie, am I? I do not recall volunteering for that_.” Arakna muttered, opening one eye to peer balefully at Urbosa.

“ _It’ll be good for you_. Try to rest.” Urbosa told her, digging in the pack for the flint and striker.

“ _I shall stay up with you_.” Arakna mumbled, stirring from beneath her cloak. Urbosa put her hand on her shoulder and gently eased her sister down again, holding Arakna there until she slowly relaxed again.

“ _You have done more than enough today, sister. You have earned your rest. This...I must do this alone_.”

Urbosa stayed long enough to make sure Arakna and Zelda were truly asleep, curled facing each other under their respective blankets and breathing deeply. She covered them both with the tarp for the tent, smoothed Zelda’s hair and then Arakna’s, and left them dreaming.

Urbosa built a small fire at the other end of their clearing, her every movement muffled by the mist. She focused on her work and did not look into the forest around them, not certain of what she would see; the trees had a watchfulness to them that she did not like.

She had to fight the dampness of wood and kindling, the very air itself seeming to work against her, but soon she had a spark, a curl of smoke. She leaned down and breathed life into the embers, watching them glow, catch, and begin to burn. The fire did nothing to quiet the dull roar in her head, nor ease the bands of iron around her heart, but the light and heat drove back the chill of this cursed place, just a little.

Urbosa built up the fire and sat back, watching sparks and flecks of ash drift away on the wind. The great heroines of old were said to have divined secrets from fire, warnings or blessings given by the Crone of the Wastes, but Urbosa saw only leaping flames. She could call down the fury of the storm on a whim, but she would gladly trade that power for one flash of insight, one premonition that would have allowed her to act before it was too late.

What use was war-magic, she wondered, if treachery came from within the household? What use was _she_ , who could only sit helpless by the sickbed as Imelda died slowly before her?

Urbosa drew a shuddering breath and combed her numb fingers through her hair, tearing out knots and bits of leaf until it fell smoothly over her shoulders. She braided her hair, pulling so tightly that her scalp ached, and when she was done she drew Sunshard from its sheath. She drew the braid taut and cut through it with one flick of the knife, exposing her neck and back to the watching woods. 

Her hands shook as she pulled a lock free from the braid and fed it to the fire, the light blurring strangely in her eyes.

“ _Crone of the Wastes, hear your widowed daughter’s plea. Kindle your lamp to light the way for Imelda of Alfhild down the night road. Guide her on, and may she walk in joy to the next life.”_

Urbosa swallowed hard, her throat thick with smoke from her burning hair, and fed another length into the fire. 

“ _Mother of the Abundant Springs, grant me strength enough to protect my family in this time of sorrow. May my eyes be ever-keen, my sword arm untiring, and my shield broad enough to shelter them.”_

Urbosa gave the last of her shorn hair to the fire and with it the last of her composure. The flood she had stemmed back at the Castle came roaring back with vengeance, and Urbosa bowed under the weight of the grief. She shuddered and let the low keening cry claw its way from her throat, helpless before it, too tired to even stifle herself.

She did not know how long she wept, her brow pressed to the cool ground of the forest, her nails digging into the flesh of her arms, but in time the wildness of her sorrow retreated, leaving her shaking in the cold mist beside a dying fire. Urbosa drew great gasps of air and made herself sit up, made herself dry her face on her sleeve and stir the embers of the fire.

“Mata?”

Urbosa whipped around, startled to find Zelda standing nearby, peeping out from the folds of her quilt. She seemed frightened now, and Urbosa hastily wiped the last of her tears away and opened her arms to the girl. Zelda hurried over and burrowed close as Urbosa gathered her up. 

“Hello, little bird. Did I wake you?” Urbosa asked, crossing her legs and settling Zelda comfortably in her lap. Zelda drew her blanket around her, looking so much like a vaba that Urbosa smiled, just a little.

“I was already awake, but I heard you crying.”

“Ah.” Urbosa sighed, and she leaned her chin on the crown of Zelda’s head. “I am sorry, little bird. I just...it has been a long week.”

A long few months, really, since Imelda first began to sicken and wither. She felt Zelda lift her head, and looked down into her serious little face.

“I miss Mother.” Zelda whispered, and Urbosa felt those words like an arrow between her ribs. _How am I to do this?_ She wondered, her mind spinning end over end as she realized she had no idea of what to say, how to comfort her child. _Imelda, how am I to do this without you?_

Urbosa made herself draw a deep breath, focused on the warm weight of Zelda in her arms; the child anchored her to the moment, drew her from the past and the uncertain future. She drew soothing patterns on Zelda’s back and nuzzled her cheek against the tousled golden hair.

“I miss her too, little bird. It is not wrong to miss her.”

“Does she miss us?” Zelda asked, and Urbosa felt the dampness of her daughter’s tears against her throat.

“Of course.” Urbosa said, fighting to keep her voice strong. “How could she not miss her little bird? I am sure she is telling everyone she meets on the night road all about you.”

“I am scared she’ll forget me. Sometimes people forget on the night road, Taarvi told me so.”

Urbosa closed her eyes and sighed, regretting ever letting her old friend mind Zelda. Taarvi had no idea what tales were suitable for little vai. Urbosa opened her eyes after a moment brushed the tears from Zelda’s cheeks with the pad of her thumb, trying to look stern and likely failing.

“That is silliness; your mother could never forget you. She has--” Urbosa stumbled, breathed through the bright shard of pain in her throat. “She had an excellent memory. She will not forget.”

“Promise?” 

“I promise.”

Zelda nodded, content for now, and turned her attention to Urbosa herself. A tiny hand stretched up and played with the ragged ends of hair behind Urbosa’s ear, tugging gently.

“Why did you put your hair in the fire?”

“It was...a present. For the Goddess of the Sands. So she would help your mother on the night road, and help us here.” Urbosa told her, not entirely sure of how to teach the finer points of spirituality to a girl raised as a foreign goddess’ vessel. Zelda squinted up at her, then at the fire; slowly, she raised her hands to her own hair.

“Can I give a present, too? So she helps Mother make lots of friends on the night road?”

Urbosa gave a true smile, her heart warmed, and leaned down to kiss Zelda’s chubby cheek.

“You are very sweet, Zelda, but it is a lot of hair to cut. You will not like it, I don’t think.”

Which was entirely the wrong thing to say; Zelda narrowed her eyes and squared her little jaw, and for one terrible moment Urbosa recognized herself there. Urbosa prayed, silently but with great feeling, that Zelda would be nothing like herself as an adolescent.

“I want to.” Zelda growled, determination writ into every line of her body, and Urbosa arched her brows and stared down at her. Zelda wavered after a moment and bashfully dropped her eyes.

“I mean, I want to _please_ , Mata.”

“Much better. Hold still, little bird.”

Urbosa gently combed out Zelda’s hair (that same lovely shade of gold, and Urbosa wondered when it would stop wounding her to see it), braiding it and cutting it. She took less of Zelda’s hair, leaving her with a bob that fell to her shoulders; she passed the braid to Zelda, who played with it in fascination for a moment. Urbosa sheathed her knife and gently guided Zelda’s hands, helping her feed her hair to the fire.

“Will the Goddess of the Sands understand me even if I don’t speak good Gerudo?” Zelda suddenly asked, turning anxiously to Urbosa.

“I am certain she can, little bird. She knows all things, and I imagine Hylian is nothing new to her.”

Zelda nodded, shuffled forward on her knees to drop a lock of hair into the flames.

“Um...Grandmother of the Sands, please watch over Mother while she’s on the night road. I know she has a good memory but please help her remember me and Mata, and let her make many friends while she’s walking to...wherever it is you’re taking her. Thank you.”

Urbosa murmured praise to her, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest; she had wanted to teach Zelda her Gerudo customs for so long, but she had never imagined that these lessons would come under such circumstances.

They sat for a while watching the fire devour Zelda’s offering, Urbosa with her cheek resting on Zelda’s hair, Zelda with her arms about Urbosa as far as she could reach. Eventually, with dawn gray on the horizon and Zelda’s head nodding with exhaustion, Urbosa stood and returned to the other end of the clearing. She laid Zelda down beside Arakna and stretched out beside them, curling her arm over the two remaining souls who she loved above all others. Beside her Arakna sighed and lifted her arm, cinching it around Urbosa’s waist and drawing her near, Zelda nestled safely between them.

The grief was quiet, the pain subdued; at last Urbosa closed her eyes and slept.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who care to know , the title is a painfully on-the-nose reference to Yeats' "The Stolen Child". I highly recommend if you like sorrowful, wistful, slightly creepy poetry about the Celts.


End file.
